


i wake up more awake than i've every been before

by luxluminaire



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxluminaire/pseuds/luxluminaire
Summary: There are many things that Sam thought she would never have the opportunity to experience. Accidentally dating her therapist - and then falling in love with her - is definitely one of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually link to the songs whose lyrics inspire my fic titles, but please listen to ["Pluto" by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWaYWsNW5ew) because it's one of the most Sam Barnes songs in existence imo

When Sam is a teenager, she comes to the firm conclusion that she will never know what it feels like to fall in love with someone.

It’s pragmatism, not pessimism, that leads her to this realization, because someone who has closed herself off from the world as she becomes increasingly unanchored in time will never have a chance to find love. She _wants_ to, of course, but she is not foolish enough to let herself cling to optimistic hopes when her life is such a perfect intersection of unusual and tragic. Unless she can find a way to reverse unbearable loss, overwhelming guilt, and stifling anxiety, she has no choice but to accept the unchanging path of loneliness ahead of her.

But then her life _does_ change when she walks into an office offering therapy for the strange and unusual, and as she gradually finds her footing among the things that shouldn’t be possible for her--gaining better control over her ability, making new friends, and saving people’s lives--she begins to think that maybe she is not yet finished with the impossible.

“So it looks like things aren’t really happening with Mark, huh?” Chloe asks as she and Sam lounge on the couch in Sam’s living room with an open bottle of wine.

The blunt observation takes Sam aback, even though by now she should be used to Chloe poking at thoughts that she does not realize are active in her mind. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry, it’s just that I hear you thinking about him. It’s kind of fuzzy, but I can pick out some stuff about how things are different now than they were when you visited him in the past, and how he needs some space to re-adjust to life in the present.” Chloe’s face lights up with the thrill that she gets from piecing together the fragments of other people’s thoughts. “Or, no, _you_ want to give him some space because there’s all that stuff that happened with the AM and Damien for him to deal with, and you don’t think you can help him with that. Ooh, yeah, I don’t blame you there. Any time spent thinking about Damien is too much time. And you’re also afraid that you wouldn’t always be able to be his knight in shining armor?” She laughs. “Oh my God, you’re such a secret romantic. I love it.”

Sam blinks, barely able to keep up with Chloe’s external processing even when it involves her own thoughts. “But it’s true,” she says. “The knight in shining armor part, I mean. I’m… Well, I’m doing a lot better than I was at the beginning of this year, but I’m not exactly a perfect model of stability. There’s a lot about being a normal person that I just don’t know how to do. And I wouldn’t want him and me to get together and have it be like… I don’t know, the traumatized leading the traumatized. So we agreed that maybe it’s better to be friends, at least for now.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being just friends,” Chloe says. “Even if it _is_ the cute guy that you were crushing on for months. I’m sure Mark really appreciates having a friend who’s been willing to do so much to help him.”

“That’s what Joan said too.”

“Yeah, you’re thinking about her right now.” Chloe frowns. “Wait, are you… dating her?”

Sam almost spits out the sip of wine in her mouth. “ _What_?”

“I mean, maybe the wine is messing with my perception a little, but you were picturing having dinner with her and thinking about how nice it is to see her let loose a little outside of work. And there’s a _lot_ on your mind about how great and wonderful she is. I don’t know, it just feels kind of date-y to me.”

Sam’s immediate instinct is to deny everything, because of _course_ she isn’t dating Joan. The concept alone is ridiculous, considering how they are just now easing into a friendship after the turmoil of last summer. Sam doesn’t even _think_ about dating women outside of hypothetical scenarios, because her romantic prospects are already low enough without adding the potential complications of a same-sex relationship. And Joan… Well, she assumes that Joan is straight, but the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that there is so much about her that she doesn’t know. Which she supposes is the point of the time that they have been spending together recently, but thus far their conversations have rarely turned toward anything resembling romance.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she insists. The flush of embarrassment that spreads across her face does not help her case. “I’ve had dinner with you a bunch of times, and I’m not dating you.”

“Yeah, but I know what you’re thinking about when you’re having dinner with me, and it’s definitely not as warm and fuzzy as your thoughts about Dr. Bright right now.” At Sam’s continued flustered embarrassment, Chloe adds, “Look, maybe I’m way off base here. But I’m just saying what I hear in your thoughts.”

Sam’s inexperience in romance gives her pause as she mentally assembles her feelings toward Joan beyond the scattered thoughts that Chloe has identified. Just as she had latched onto Mark as an open, caring person who understands her struggles as a time traveler, she has not ruled out the possibility that she only looks upon Joan with such a degree of fondness because she was the first person to whom Sam confided her biggest and darkest secrets. Joan has been a valuable and trusted confidant for her, but surely that is only because their friendship has come in the aftermath of the months that Sam had spent in therapy with her. It doesn’t necessarily indicate any deeper attachment--and yet even without Chloe reading her mind Sam cannot deny that recently her thoughts have strayed into idle fantasies that now feature Joan where Mark had once been, one sibling exchanged for another in an unexpected turn of events.

“I mean, we haven’t _said_ that we’re dating,” she points out. “That’s kind of an important part of it, right? Is it really that easy to accidentally date someone without either of you knowing it?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Especially when it’s your first time in a non-heterosexual relationship. Well, first time for you, at least. I honestly don’t know about Dr. Bright. I try to stay out of her love life.” Chloe takes a drink from her glass. “Anyway, anecdotal evidence and all, but I’m pretty sure my first girlfriend and I were technically together for like a month before we realized we were dating.”

“Really?” Sam asks. “How did that happen?”

“Being clueless teenagers, mostly. We were already hanging out all the time. Going downtown or having movie nights with lots of, you know, supposedly platonic cuddling. We thought we were just really, _really_ good friends. Because we didn’t do the whole ‘I think you’re cute’ ‘I think _you’re_ cute’ ‘Okay, let’s go out’ thing, and obviously we weren’t hooking up or anything like that. So there wasn’t really anything to make us think we were dating until we were like ‘Wait a minute, this isn’t just friendship.’”

“And you and her just… what, eventually talked about it and figured it out?” Sam tries not to sound too skeptical. In theory, it should be easy for her to talk to Joan about anything, but the idea of discussing a possible romantic connection fills her with the inescapable fear of rejection or mistaken feelings. “That sounds like it’s easier said than done.”

“Well, after a little while we finally kissed. That definitely helped sort things out a little.” Chloe reaches out to pet Darwin where he has jumped up onto the couch to sit between the two of them. As she scritches him behind his ears, she adds, “Wait, you haven’t kissed Dr. Bright, have you?”

Once again the heat of embarrassment rises in Sam’s face. “No.”

“But you want to, right? You’re thinking about it right now.”

The mere power of suggestion has indeed brought the image into Sam’s mind. She has no frame of reference for kissing, of course, because she hadn’t had a chance to kiss Mark before everything with him stopped before it could truly begin. Inexperience does not prevent her from fantasizing, however, and so she embraces the thought of Joan’s lips pressed against hers. She wonders if Joan kisses with the same care and devotion that she does everything else and whether she would be aware of Sam’s lack of experience and take everything slowly. It doesn’t take long for her to lose herself in imagining the grand spectacle of a movie kiss, regardless of whether a moment that perfect is possible in reality.

Chloe’s delighted giggle reminds her that these thoughts are not private, and she has unintentionally been showing her every detail of how maybe she _has_ developed feelings for Joan after all. She scoops Darwin up into her arms, burying her face into his fur to avoid having to look Chloe in the eye after inadvertently revealing her deepest fantasies to her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Chloe assures her. She lays a hand on Sam’s arm. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But I _do_ think it’s worth talking to her about this, if you really think that something might be there. What’s there to lose, right?”

 _Everything_ , Sam wants to say in a pessimistic response. “But she was my therapist,” she says instead, her words muffled against Darwin. “I used to pay her to listen to all of my problems. She knows more about me than… well, pretty much anyone else, except maybe you. Wouldn’t that make things weird in a potential relationship?” The word “relationship” terrifies her from the moment it leaves her mouth, leaping far ahead of whatever connection may or may not exist between her and Joan.

“I don’t know, it kind of sounds like a plus to me,” says Chloe. “You know she’s not going to freak out about your ability, and you’ve already gone through all of your difficult personal history stuff with her. You’ve essentially skipped over an entire awkward process that you’d have to go through with any other new partner.”

Darwin squirms in Sam’s arms. She lets go of him so he can curl up at her feet. “She’s a lot older than I am,” she says, fully aware that at this point she is just making excuses.

“She’s, what, early thirties? That kind of age difference isn’t always a big deal once you’re in your mid-twenties. Like if someone my age wanted to date her, that would be a little weird. But as long as both of you are comfortable with it, I don’t think it would be a problem.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Despite her doubts, Sam’s mind races with the possibilities that have formed during this conversation. She feels like Chloe has helped crack open a door in her head that she has previously kept locked, preferring not to think about what lies behind it until now. The prospect of taking the next step forward terrifies her, and she remains uncertain of whether she will be able to take that step before her anxiety tells her that bringing up _any_ of this with Joan will only lead to disaster. For now, though, she lets herself sink into Chloe’s encouragement as she no longer hides from the possibility of making something out of her feelings.

“I’m sure it won’t be a disaster,” says Chloe. “Dr. Bright is super understanding. I’m sure she wouldn’t let things get weird between the two of you if she ends up not feeling the same way. Oh--things have already been weird? When you were gone during the summer and she was having those meetings with the AM that she didn’t tell you about for a while? Yeah, I get that, she isn’t always the most forthcoming about a lot of things, but--”

“Chloe.” Sam holds up a hand to stop her, recognizing when she is following a train of thought without stopping to anyone else catch up.

Chloe’s words break off into a sigh. “Ugh, I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Sorry.” She takes the bottle of wine from where it has been left on the coffee table. “How about I pour us some more wine, and we can talk about something else? But I want updates the moment something happens with you two, all right?”

Sam smiles in spite of her messy tangle of thoughts, because Chloe’s enthusiasm can be truly infectious sometimes. She holds out her glass for Chloe to top off, adding more wine even though she has not yet finished her first drink.

“All right,” she says. “It’s a deal.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner with Joan a few nights later is less awkward than Sam expects, even with her increased awareness of the flutter of excitement that manifests in her stomach from the moment that she lays eyes on her. She manages to stay calm--relaxed, even--throughout their time at the restaurant. The delicious meal that they share distracts her from the heart-pounding panic of trying to find the right moment to bring up what she and Chloe had discussed, and instead she lets herself fully enjoy Joan’s company while telling herself that she will worry about that elusive “right moment” later.

Predictably, her nervousness sets in on their way home, closer to that nebulous time of “later.” She sits the passenger seat of Joan’s car with their conversation replaced by the quiet sound of the CD playing as background noise (because of _course_ Joan still listens to CDs in the age of satellite radio and streaming music). Sam is capable of driving herself, but doing so in the city and its surrounding areas is an entirely different obstacle compared to the mindless stretches of highway that she’d grown moderately comfortable with over the summer. A paralyzing fear lives in the back of her mind that she will end up driving through the intersection that took so much away from her, even when she knows that her route will bring her nowhere near that location. It’s best to not run that risk, she decides, and fortunately Joan understands her hesitation and is happy to drive whenever they go out.

When they arrive at Sam’s apartment, an uncertain silence passes between them. Sam unbuckles her seatbelt and is about to offer a thank-you for the ride, but before she can say anything Joan turns off the car’s engine to preface something much longer than a simple farewell.

“Sam,” she says. “Are you all right?”

The glow of the nearby streetlight partially illuminates her face and the concern that crosses it. The first thing that Sam had noticed upon meeting her nine months ago is how kind her eyes are, as if she truly cares about what you have to say. At first Sam thought it was a therapist thing, a way to make her patients feel more at ease with her, but after having spent time with her outside of her office she has concluded that Joan really _is_ that attentive by nature. Or at least she is that attentive with _her_ , and that distinction sends Sam’s heart racing.

“Are we dating?” she blurts out, disregarding all of her previous thoughts about waiting for the right moment.

Joan blinks in the unmistakable surprise of a double-take. A frown creases her forehead and turns down the corners of her mouth as she takes in the question that she clearly has not expected.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she replies after a handful of seconds that feel like an eternity.

“It’s just that we’ve been going out a lot lately--well, not necessarily ‘going out’ going out, I know it’s just us being friends, but sometimes I feel like it could be more than that, and I--I really like you.”

Sam hopes that the relatively low light conceals how her face has _definitely_ turned scarlet with each word that tumbles out of her mouth. When she’d rehearsed this conversation in her head as a way to combat the anxiety of the unknown, it had not progressed to this point so quickly. All of her preparation is useless now that she has torn herself open and let all of her feelings spill out, and she cannot shake the feeling that she has ruined everything with her impulsive confession.

“Oh,” is all Joan says in response--not even a full word, just a single syllable that tells Sam nothing about how she feels. Instead she must search for meaning in the frown that remains on Joan’s face, which the worst-case scenario part of her brain immediately interprets as a sign of rejection.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Now I’ve just made things weird, and--”

She breaks off, no longer able to ignore the frantic beat of her heart inside her chest. She presses the sweaty palms of her hands against her seat, as if physically holding on to something in the present will keep her anchored here. Now is _not_ the time to disappear, she tells herself firmly as she takes a deep breath to calm herself. She has not come this far only to vanish into the past because she cannot handle the vulnerability of telling someone that she likes them.

“Sam.” Joan’s voice is impossibly gentle as she lays a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. You haven’t made anything weird.”

“I haven’t?” The words come out smaller than Sam intends, equal parts desperate and hopeful.

“No,” says Joan. “You caught me off guard, that’s all. But I think that you’re an extraordinary woman, and not just because of your ability. And I’d be lying if I claimed that I didn’t feel differently about you than I do toward any of my other current or former patients.”

Her response eases some of the tightness in Sam’s chest, although her heart now flutters with an emotion distinctly separate from anxiety. “‘Differently’ as in you like me too?” she asks. The words sound juvenile as soon as she says them, as if she is a lovestruck teenager. Then again, she never had the chance to experience the drama of first-time romance as a teenager, and so she is stuck navigating those challenging waters at twenty-five.

“Yes.” An amused smile tugs at Joan’s lips. “I do.”

“Oh. Um, good.” Sam laughs in a combination of relief and nervousness. “But wait, why didn’t you say anything about it before now? It would have saved me a _lot_ of freaking out.”

“I suppose I wasn’t sure myself,” says Joan. “I have to admit that this is new to me. The idea of dating a former patient, that is. I didn’t want to make any inappropriate assumptions.”

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” Sam asks. “I mean, it’s not like this is the normal way for things to progress in the first place. Most people don’t keep spending time with their therapist after they stop their sessions. And they _definitely_ don’t go out to dinner with them and then awkwardly confess their feelings in their car.”

“Most people also don’t help their therapist break her brother out of a top-secret government facility,” Joan points out. “I think it’s safe to say that I’m not scared off by anything unorthodox.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Sam gives another relieved laugh. Joan’s hand has eased away from her shoulder by now, and its absence makes her yearn for renewed contact. “So, um,” she begins, taking another step into the intimidating territory of initiative. “Do you want to come up to my apartment?” Then, aware of the implications that come with inviting someone into her home after a quasi-date and the confession of mutual attraction, she adds, “I mean, just to talk some more. I don’t expect…” She trails off, unsure of what to say next.

“I’d love to,” Joan replies. “I suppose my car isn’t the ideal place to have conversations like this.”

Before they get out of the car, the muffled ringtone of Joan’s phone breaks through the air. She casts a glance from Sam to her purse, and her frown returns at the clear internal debate of whether she should answer.

“Go ahead,” Sam says. “In case it’s important.”

Joan retrieves her phone and checks the name on the screen. “Ugh, Mark,” she groans with the light-hearted irritation that can only come from an older sibling. She answers the call regardless, and as much as Sam tries not to eavesdrop she cannot ignore how Joan shifts from annoyed to concerned as soon as she hears Mark’s voice.

“Mark, slow down,” she says. “Take a few deep breaths. In and out.” Sam hears Joan’s own quiet inhale and exhale as an encouragement for him to mimic the action. “Good. Now, tell me what happened.”

As Joan listens to his words, Sam’s mind races with the possibilities of what could have caused him to call her in what is clearly a state of distress. Has the AM decided to seek him out again, despite making no prior efforts to reestablish contact with him since he’d left their captivity? Or has Damien’s power returned, and now he wants to pull Mark back into the twisted life they’d shared together over the summer? Sam does not want to dwell on the negative possibilities, but she cannot stop her thoughts from spiraling into scenarios that make her heart pound with both worry on his behalf and anger at those who have harmed him.

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” says Joan, followed by the insistence of “No, it’s fine. I’m sure Sam will understand.” She listens to Mark’s response and then continues with, “Yes, I can pick some up on the way home. I’ll see you soon.”

The call ends with a few more words of farewell and what Sam assumes is a sentiment of thanks from Mark. When Joan’s worried expression does not fade after she has put her phone away, Sam offers a hesitant inquiry of “Is everything okay?”

“Um, yes. Mark is just…” Joan hesitates, clearly trying to find the right words. “It’s been hard for him since he’s been back. He sometimes gets… panicked, I suppose. Scared. I told him that he could call me whenever he needs anything, even if it’s just some company. It’s the least I can do after all those years of not being able to be there for him. But that means I’ll have to take a rain check on the rest of tonight, I’m afraid.”

A twinge of disappointment deflates the buoyant hope that has risen in Sam’s heart, but she also sympathizes with Mark’s desire for company and comfort during his more difficult moments. She admires Joan’s compassion in immediately rushing to his side when he needs her. Taking care of people is what Joan does best, though, and that degree of devotion is why Sam has learned to trust her despite her secrets and lies.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says. “I’m just glad we were able to get on the same page about, well, _us_.” It’s strange to think of her and Joan as an “us,” the tentative intersection of two lives via one emotional connection, but it brings her a flurry of excitement regardless. “And maybe we can do this again sometime soon? Not the awkward confession part, of course, just… going out? Now that we both know that it would be a date.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

It would be so easy for Sam to bridge the distance between them with a kiss to end the evening, pressing her lips against the kindness and joy of Joan’s smile. Without stopping to second-guess herself, she seizes the moment and leans in toward the driver’s seat. The kiss is no more than the brief touch of their lips before the excited beat of Sam’s heart grows panicked with the realization that she has no idea what she’s doing.

“Sorry,” she says after she has pulled away. “I, um, I just felt like it was the right moment, and… Well, I’ve never kissed anyone before. In case that wasn’t obvious. Oh God, it was totally obvious, wasn’t it?”

“Sam.” Once again that gentle, almost calming note enters Joan’s voice, carrying with it the reassurance that she has no reason to worry. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize for a kiss.”

The brush of her fingers against her cheek makes Sam’s breath catch in her throat. “Um, good,” she manages to reply. “Would… would it be okay if we tried it again?”

“Of course. It would be more than okay.”

Their lips meet again, and this time the kiss lasts long enough for Sam to fully enjoy it. The mess of emotions inside her fades away into the pure joy that still feels unfamiliar to her after years of unhappiness. She can almost convince herself that she is lost in a dream or fantasy, but the kiss and the touch of Joan’s hands are realer than anything she could imagine. Her first kiss may have been hasty and underwhelming, but her second kiss more than makes up for it in the bliss of this single moment before they break apart.

“Wow,” is all Sam can say in a quiet gasp of breath. “But, um, you have to go now, right?” she adds after she has regained herself. “I shouldn’t keep you.”

“Right.” Joan withdraws her hands from where they have cupped Sam’s face. “Have a good night, Sam. We’ll talk again soon.”

“Yeah. You too.” Sam reaches for the handle of the car door. As she clasps her grip around it, she looks back at Joan. “And thanks for…” She hesitates, unsure of what to thank her for first: the kiss, not being scared away by the idea of them dating, or being so understanding of her feelings in general. She ultimately settles on finishing that thought with “For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sam opens the door and steps out of the car. She returns Joan’s wave of farewell, and then she watches her drive away until the car’s tail lights have faded into the distance. When she finally goes inside and climbs the stairs to her apartment, she feels as if she is walking on air, floating weightlessly in her happiness at how well this night has gone. Even after she enters her apartment and flops down onto her couch, she knows that very few things in the universe could pull her back down to Earth right now.

She bends down to lift Darwin onto her lap when he emerges from under the coffee table to greet her. “I kissed Joan,” she says to him, unable to contain her joy. She does not expect him to understand how significant this is for her, but saying the words aloud makes everything all the more _real_ , and it’s not like she has anyone else in the immediate vicinity to tell.

She then remembers the promise she’d made to Chloe on this same couch a few days earlier, and with that spark of recollection comes the comforting thought that she _does_ have someone besides her cat to talk to about the first blossoms of her love life. She takes out her phone and composes a text to Chloe that reads _There’s been a development_. Realizing how cryptic that sounds, she adds a second message that says _With Joan_ , quickly followed by _A good development_ and _(sorry for so many texts)_.

She receives a response almost immediately: a series of exclamation points followed by the dots that indicate that Chloe is typing out a longer response. _let me call you in like 5 min_ , reads the eventual reply. _i want to hear EVERYTHING_.

Chloe’s enthusiasm brings a smile to Sam’s face. She makes herself a cup of tea and settles comfortably onto the couch while she waits for her call, and even before she recounts the evening’s events to Chloe, she knows that this will be a night that she remembers for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

If Sam could directly interact with her past self on her trips and tell her that she would eventually end up driving herself to see her former therapist whom she is now officially dating, she would never believe herself.

But that is her reality now, and even her present self can hardly believe it. There’s a pessimistic part of her that is waiting for something to inevitably go wrong, for her ability to ruin the early stages of this relationship just like it has ruined everything else in her life. She has recently learned how to embrace optimism, however, and so she allows herself to ease into this new phase of her life with only the smallest amount of panic. Fortunately, Joan is happy to take things one step at a time with her so that she does not become too overwhelmed by the unfamiliar realm of romance that is both more terrifying and more wonderful than anything she has imagined.

“I’m running a little late leaving my office,” Joan says to her over the phone while Sam is en route to meet her at her apartment. “It’ll probably be another twenty or so minutes before I’m home. But I’ll make sure that Mark knows to let you in when you get there.”

“Okay,” Sam replies. “See you soon.”

When she arrives at Joan’s apartment, she’s not sure what to feel when she sees Mark. This is not her first time spending time with him since she began dating Joan, but she has not had any opportunities to talk with him one-on-one until now. She is sure that Mark does not have any issues with her and Joan’s fledgling relationship, but she cannot shake the suspicion that he may harbor some degree of hard feelings about how she has moved on to his sister so soon after she and him had agreed to stay friends.

“You don’t mind me waiting here, right?” she asks him. She sits next to him on the couch where he had been watching TV before her arrival. “I don’t want to intrude on anything. I know this is Joan’s apartment, but you live here now too.”

“It’s totally fine,” Mark replies. “It’s not like I have anything else to do tonight besides continuing to give this TV a serious workout. Having some company is nice, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Sam glances at the Netflix menu on the TV screen. “Yeah, Joan mentioned that you’ve been spending a lot of time catching up on everything you’ve missed.” Then, worried that he may interpret her words as judgmental, she adds, “I don’t blame you, you know. Whenever I come back from a long trip to a place without much technology, I always end up spending hours in front of the TV or computer re-acclimating to the twenty-first century.”

“Exactly.” Mark exhales a sigh of relief at her understanding. “But now watching anything for the first time is always kind of a gamble. Turns out that some things should really come with a ‘not safe for Mark’ warning.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Sam replies. “There’s a lot of stuff out there that’s ‘not safe for Sam’ too.”

Mark gives a brief laugh. The sound is hollow, almost self-deprecating, as if wry humor is the only way through which he can grapple with the enormity of his trauma. Sam remembers how she had been immediately drawn to him when they had first met in the 1810 English countryside, and how she’d been surprised at how charming and witty he was even after being alone for years. She still occasionally feels the quiet pang of what could have been, but now she has someone else to occupy her thoughts--someone who is far more serious but has a heart that is just as kind as Mark’s. A family trait, Sam supposes, despite how different Joan claims she is from her brother.

“So, um… This is a little awkward, isn’t it?” she says, breaking through the silence to bring up the inevitable topic of Joan. “You know, since I’m now dating your sister after you and I were almost a thing.”

“Eh, it’s not that awkward,” Mark replies with a shrug. “You’re definitely a lot better than most of the other people she’s dated.”

“Really?” Sam finds it hard to believe that Joan would involve herself with anyone who would merit Mark’s disapproval--other than her whole thing with Agent Green, which Mark had mostly found out about after the fact. “How so?”

“Well, you’re not a total bore, first of all,” says Mark. “Let’s just say that Joan and I have _very_ different tastes in men.”

“Looks like you have similar tastes in women, though.”

Mark laughs. “Huh, I guess that’s true. Or maybe you’re just extraordinary enough to appeal to both of us regardless of what kind of people we’re into.”

His charming compliment almost brings a blush to Sam’s face, even though she knows that he is not trying to flirt with her. “I don’t feel extraordinary most of the time, though,” she admits.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” says Mark. “You’re a time traveler, after all. And kind of my savior. Plus there _has_ to be something special about you if you’ve won my sister’s heart. She doesn’t say it, but I can tell that she’s crazy about you.”

“I’m crazy about her too.” Sam can feel the smile that creeps across her lips with the confession. Although Joan’s actions speak loudly enough in reinforcing how much she cares about her, hearing the independent confirmation fills her with unspeakable joy. “Ugh, sorry,” she adds. “You probably don’t want to hear me get all sappy.”

“Don’t apologize for being sappy,” Mark replies. “The two of you both deserve some happiness, as far as I’m concerned.”

The word “deserve” stands out to Sam. Over the past couple of weeks, an insistent voice in her thoughts has tried to convince her that she _doesn’t_ deserve Joan’s affections and that Joan is only putting up with her out of pity. She knows that this voice does not reflect reality, but that does not stop her from falling into the belief that she shouldn’t fool herself into thinking that she can find happiness.

“Anyway,” Mark continues, “do you want to watch something while you wait? I don’t mind sharing the TV.”

“No, that’s okay. Joan said she wouldn’t be too late coming home.” Sam glances at the door, waiting for the inevitable moment that Joan walks in. It has only been a few days since they last saw each other, and even less time since they’ve spoken, but anticipation floods through her regardless. “You can put on whatever you were watching before I got here.”

It turns out that Mark is in between shows, and so the next few minutes are filled with the scrolling sounds of the Netflix menu as he searches for something new to watch. Sam isn’t much help when he asks her for recommendations, because despite also spending a large amount of time alone at home she is not nearly as deep into TV and movie consumption as he is. “Unless you want to end up in a cycle of historical documentaries and old Star Trek episodes like I usually do,” she says.

“Real life doesn’t already have enough history and sci-fi for you?” Mark asks as he switches to browsing the movie selections.

“Getting historical context for my trips is sometimes helpful. And my ability can only take me backwards in time, so I _know_ I’m never going to end up in the twenty-third century.”

The door eventually opens to signify Joan’s arrival at the apartment. Sam immediately rises to her feet to meet her when she enters the room, not wanting to waste a single moment. Mark’s greeting of “Hey, Joanie” reminds the two of them that they are not alone, and so when Joan leans in for a kiss her lips instead go to Sam’s cheek.

“You guys can kiss in front of me, you know,” Mark points out, barely taking his eyes away from the TV screen. “I’m not so fragile that I need protection from the completely innocent parts of my sister’s dating life.”

Joan ignores his comment. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she says. “I wish I’d been able to call you before you left.”

“It’s fine,” Sam replies. “Is everything okay? Nothing’s… happened, right?” She hesitates around her last words, not wanting to explicitly bring up the looming shadows of Damien and the AM.

“Nothing that you need to worry about,” Joan assures her. “Believe it or not, my job isn’t _always_ dramatic. Sometimes it’s simply a matter of a session running late or having a pile of things that need to be taken care of before the end of the day.” She then turns her attention to Mark. “Have you left the couch at all today?”

He groans in exasperation. “Yeah, chill, I took a walk around the block earlier this afternoon. I tried taking some photos, but they all turned out like garbage.”

“And I can confirm that he got up to let me in,” Sam adds in his defense. She knows a thing or two about shutting herself off from the world, after all, and how even the smallest step outside the safety of your home can be overwhelming. The commonality does not stop her from worrying that the time he spent with Damien has affected him more than he thinks, even though being concerned about that particular trauma is more Joan’s business than hers.

“See, I’m not completely hopeless,” says Mark. “And I put on real pants today and everything. That’s definitely a step toward functional. Maybe even two steps.”

Joan does not look convinced, but she chooses to let the subject drop. “Anyway, Sam, just give me a few minutes to change clothes and get myself ready, and then we can head out.”

“Okay.”

Sam’s eyes follow Joan until she has disappeared into her bedroom. Upon returning her attention to the living room, she cannot ignore the smirk that has appeared on Mark’s face as she sits next to him once more.

“The two of you are _so_ smitten,” he says before she can ask him what’s so funny. “It’s sickening but also kind of adorable.”

“Hey, it’s the first time I’ve had something like this, okay?” she replies in an automatic instinct to defend herself. “Besides, you just said that there’s nothing wrong with being sappy.”

“Trust me, this is more about giving Joan a hard time than you,” Mark assures her. “You’re completely allowed to indulge in longing glances. Which you’ve _totally_ nailed, by the way,” he adds with a double thumbs-up. “You’d never guess she was just going into the next room from the way you were watching her go.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sam cannot bring herself to be too irritated by his teasing comments, however, having learned by now that these remarks are an inevitable part of being Mark’s friend. Even though their relationship has not followed the trajectory that she has expected, she is glad that he has now become part of her gradually growing circle of friends.

Joan soon emerges from her bedroom, having changed out of the skirt and blouse that she’d worn to work in favor of the more casual attire of jeans and a sweater. Sam could easily afford to take her on a fancy and expensive date to any of the fine dining restaurants in the city, but the two of them have quickly established that they prefer the simplicity of cozy cafes and evening strolls through the park. But although the atmosphere of their dates is casual, the feelings that fuel them are not, and Sam fondly remembers every time that they kiss each other goodnight or allow their hands to slip into a tight clasp as they walk side-by-side.

“I assume I’m driving us?” Joan asks, retrieving her keys and purse from where she has left them on the kitchen table.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Sam has grown more comfortable driving what she has established as her “safe routes,” but she still feels far more at ease in the passenger seat where she cannot cause any harm if she disappears. “I don’t think I can handle city driving right now.”

“That’s understandable.” Joan puts on a lightweight jacket and slides her feet into a pair of shoes at the door. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

“Be safe, you two,” Mark says from the couch while Sam finds her own coat and shoes. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Joan rolls her eyes. “And _you_ need to make sure that you don’t become permanently fused to the couch.”

“Very funny, Joanie.”

“Have a good night, Mark,” Sam offers in farewell. “I’ll make sure not to keep her out too late.”

Joan closes the door behind them with their departure from the apartment. As they linger in the hall, Sam glances around to ensure that no one else is nearby before taking Joan by the hand and pulling her into a kiss that is longer and deeper than anything she would be comfortable expressing in the company of others. A quiet thrill fills her at kissing her in a semi-public space, especially when they have shared all of their previous kisses behind closed doors or in the darkness of a car at night.

“What was that for?” Joan asks after they have broken apart.

“I’m just happy to see you.” Sam does not yet let go of her hand. “I don’t need a reason to kiss you, do I?”

“I suppose not.” A warm smile crosses Joan’s lips. “Come on,” she says. “We should head out before we run into too much evening traffic. And I promise we’ll have time for plenty more kisses before the night is over.”

Her smile is infectious, and Sam loves how beautiful she is when she is truly happy. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she replies.

She squeezes Joan’s hand, and neither of them lets go until long after they have stepped out into the early evening dusk.


	4. Chapter 4

For the past decade, nightmares have been a constant negative force in Sam’s life, sneaking into her sleeping mind and trapping her until she wakes up. The repertoire of scenarios has grown impressively large as time goes on, but there is always one constant that never fails to jerk her awake in the middle of the night with tears in her eyes and the telltale tightness in her chest that precedes a trip. No matter how much time has passed, she cannot escape her original nightmare: the accident that changed her life so irreparably, transforming her from an anxious teenager with an unusual ability into a walking tragedy who eternally carries the oppressive weight of her guilt.

Sam’s improvement in controlling her ability has made that particular dream worse, strangely enough. Prior to last spring, she would never revisit the exact scene of the accident, instead experiencing the tremendous loss in more abstract ways. But now that her travels have shown her the objective reality of everything leading up to that fatal moment, her dreams are able to recapture everything in excruciating detail. Even after her other self disappears, dream Sam always sees the inevitable hurtle of the car toward the intersection, and she is unable to halt the progression of time to a standstill. Instead she can do nothing but brace herself for the impact of the oncoming truck, and that is when she always wakes up.

Her eyes snap open as her body floods with familiar panicked adrenaline. A light flicks on beside her, and it takes a moment for her to realize that she is not the one who has turned on the lamp. Its warm glow illuminates the form of Joan beside her, because of _course_ this has to happen during the first night that Joan stays over at her apartment.

“Sam, it’s okay,” Joan assures her in the same soothing voice that she had used in her office during their sessions. “You’re safe. Take some deep breaths.”

Sam tries to let the slow, conscious inhale of a breath fill her lungs, but she already feels her grip on the present slipping. “I’m sorry, I--” she begins, but her ability overpowers her before she can get any more words out.

The advantage of a stronger degree of control is that even when she cannot prevent the onset of a trip, she can usually direct herself to a safe place in the past that does not contain any trauma-inducing instances of violence and death. This time she goes to a location where she has been a couple of times before: a snowy forest near the base of a mountain. In the interdimensional space that she occupies, she does not feel the full extent of the cold wind against her skin nor the snow beneath her socked feet, but she certainly feels ill-prepared for the weather dressed in an old T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. The serene environment calms her despite its frigid temperatures, and so she trudges onward across the snow, leaving no footprints behind as she follows the path that she has taken the other times that she has come here.

She loses track of how long she walks, focusing instead on the gradual slowing of her heartbeat as she breathes. Eventually, she reaches a clearing in the forest with a small cabin. It looks the same as the last time she saw it, and so she assumes that she has found the location temporally as well as spatially. Although she has become fairly accurate at hitting those targets when she is purposefully taking a trip, her aim is not as precise when she travels as a purely emotional reaction. She supposes that the exact time does not matter for this location, but she would hate to be several decades off in either direction and arrive in a time when the cabin has not been built yet or no longer exists.

A faint plume of smoke rises from the cabin’s chimney, and the soft glow of firelight emanates from the windows against the dusky cover of the twilight sky. As much as Sam longs for the warmth of the cabin’s interior, getting inside is a tricky matter. She has a limited degree of interaction with the world around her while time traveling, and that includes an inability to open doors. Joan has all kinds of theories on that front, of course, about dimensions and the limitations of the space-time continuum, but all Sam needs to know is that usually she cannot enter a space unless a door is already open. Until someone comes in or out of the cabin, she is trapped outside in the snowy cold.

A set of boot prints leading away from the front door catches her attention. The heavy tracks set into the snow look recent, and so Sam follows them around the side of the cabin to where they stop near the back. She soon discovers that they belong to the cabin’s occupant, whom she recognizes from the previous times that she has been here: a middle-aged woman dressed in a heavy coat made from animal skins and furs. She lives here alone, as far as Sam can tell, a lone figure among the wilderness of the forest. Sam has wondered what circumstances have led her to this solitary existence, whether she is living on her own by choice or if she, like Sam, is the only one left in her family. There is another possibility that Sam has not considered until now, however: a reason that gives her an additional incentive to come to this time besides having a soothing place to ride out her panic.

The woman is atypical.

Telekinetic, specifically, because there’s no other explanation for how she can move the heavy stacks of firewood without lifting a finger. Her control is excellent, as far as Sam can tell, and the way that she levitates the firewood as she walks reminds her of how Chloe’s mother casually uses her ability when she is among safe company. Is that why this woman lives here alone, because she does not have that safe company in which she can use her ability freely? Was there perhaps an incident involving her telekinesis that alienated her from her family and friends, and now she has isolated herself just like Sam did after the accident? Her curiosity grows with each passing moment, and she already cannot wait to tell Joan about this latest discovery.

When the woman opens the door into the cabin, Sam slips in undetected behind her. She stomps the snow off her feet in an automatic motion before remembering that she has no physical presence here and thus cannot track any snow inside. She watches as the woman stack the firewood in an organized pile next to the fireplace, her expression focused with the mental concentration needed to use her ability. The woman then uses the last log to stoke the fire, humming softly to herself as the fire ignites brighter with the increased fuel.

Sam sits in front of the fire, enjoying the faint warmth that she feels from it on her plane of existence. Her previous experiences in this cabin have shown her that its occupant seems to live a quiet and simple life, and Sam is happy to be an invisible part of it for the remaining duration of this trip. It’s strange to think that the woman has no idea that she has a visitor from the future as a temporary companion, someone who is extraordinary like her but in a very different way. Sam remembers how alone she had felt before finding out that other atypicals exist, and she wonders if this woman feels the same loneliness. If Sam had some way to reach her and assure her that she is part of a community much bigger than herself, she would do so, but ultimately she can do nothing but observe this single, unremarkable moment in the woman’s life.

She watches the spark and crackle of the fire as she waits for her body and mind to reach the state of equilibrium that will allow her to return to the present. Eventually she feels the familiar pull that makes the interior of the cabin disappear around her in a swirling rush of images and sound. When her bedroom materializes around her, she is lying in her bed once again, and Joan sits beside her with unmistakable worry etched upon her face. Darwin has leapt up onto the bed as well, staring at where Sam has appeared in the previously empty space.

“You didn’t have to stay awake until I came back,” Sam says. She reaches for her phone to check the time--one forty-eight A.M., still relatively early in the night. “You knew that I wasn’t going away forever.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joan assures her. “You were only gone for a few minutes, anyway.”

“Right.” Sam collapses back against her pillows. “And at least you had Darwin to keep you company.”

“Yes. I imagine by now he’s completely unfazed by you popping in and out.”

“The most understanding cat in the universe,” Sam says. She pets Darwin where he has climbed up to lie across her chest. He purrs happily at the attention that she gives him.

The mattress shifts slightly as Joan lies down beside her. The concern has not yet left her expression, which sends a surge of guilt rushing through Sam at how her trip has interrupted what should have been a comfortable night of sleep for both of them.

“Was it a nightmare?” Joan asks.

Sam nods. Usually talking about her nightmares is a terrifying prospect, but upon growing more comfortable with Joan, first in her therapy sessions and then later as friends (and now maybe even as _girlfriends_ ), she feels like she can tell her anything. It turns out emotional vulnerability is something that she _can_ grow accustomed to, even if exposing her innermost fears and insecurities makes her heart race every time.

“It was the accident,” she says. “Seeing everything leading up to it and not being able to stop it. I always wake up before the actual crash, but....” She exhales a shaky breath. “It’s always hard to keep myself from disappearing after I have that dream.”

“What do you usually do when you go on a trip in the middle of the night? I imagine the experience is much more intense than calming down after an ordinary nightmare.”

“Like what do I do when I come back?” Sam asks, and Joan nods. “Well, sometimes I’m still freaking out a little, so I do some of the breathing exercises that you taught me. But mostly I just try to distract myself until I fall back asleep. Audiobooks and podcasts help a lot, because then I can just close my eyes and listen, you know? It’s less stimulation than watching TV or even reading a book, and it’s definitely better than just lying in bed trying to force myself back to sleep.”

“It’s good that you have a routine for times like this,” says Joan. “Having an established set of coping mechanisms can help make everything feel less overwhelming.”

Sam recognizes the type of language that she is using: reassuring words that are too clinical and professional to belong in the intimate setting of a bedroom. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” she says.

“Do what?”

“Give me therapy. I haven’t been your patient for months now, and I feel like it’s a little inappropriate for you to say therapy things to me while I’m lying in bed with you.”

“It’s not therapy, it’s support,” Joan corrects her. “You can’t expect me to not comfort you after you’ve come back from a trip.”

“I guess. But it’s not fair to you. I mean, when you’re not at work you probably just want to turn off your therapist brain and relax. You shouldn’t have to deal with me being an absolute disaster who can’t even spend one night with you without ruining everything.”

“I might be able to turn off my ‘therapist brain,’ but I can’t turn off caring about you.” Joan touches a hand to Sam’s arm. Sam does not look at her and instead continues to pet Darwin. “That’s part of what it means to be in a relationship. I’m always going to want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“I bet sometimes you wish you were with someone normal, though.” The words slip out before Sam has a chance to stop them. “And the sad thing is that I wouldn’t even blame you. Because no one _wants_ to stay with someone who might vanish at any moment. I’ve lost almost everyone else that I’ve ever cared about, and I’m so, _so_ terrified that one day you’ll be gone too.”

She finally turns her head to look at Joan, who wears her usual frown that appears whenever Sam is too hard on herself. The expression reminds her that no matter how much Joan keeps hidden below the surface, she cannot conceal all of her emotions. How much she cares about her is certainly one of them, and Sam sees it in the deep brown gaze of her eyes.

“I promise, Sam, I’m not going anywhere,” Joan assures her. “And I would never trade you for someone ‘normal.’ My life has always been filled with the strange and unusual, and I don’t see why my dating life has to be any different.”

“And you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Sam asks, unable to lay her doubts to rest.

“No. I’m saying it because it’s true. I’ll always be here, just like I know you’ll always come back whenever you disappear.”

Sam gently lifts Darwin off her chest so that she can roll over onto her side. She is not used to sharing her bed with another person, but as Joan takes hold of her hand and squeezes it gently, she feels more comfortable and safe than she has felt in a long time. It almost reminds her of when she becomes fully immersed in some of her more pleasant trips, reaching that point of calmness that allows her to return to the present.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, remembering what she had seen while in the quiet company of the woman in the cabin. “When I was on my trip, I saw another atypical. A telekinetic. I wasn’t even looking or anything. I just went to one of my happy places, and there she was.”

“That’s incredibly lucky of you,” Joan replies. “Where did you go? Or, more accurately, _when_ did you go?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere cold and snowy in the mountains, maybe in the 1800s? I don’t know, there was a log cabin and those always seem very 1800s to me. And there was no modern technology or even basic electricity, so if it’s closer to the present it would have to be someone _really_ dedicated to roughing it in the woods.” Which is not completely outside of the realm of possibility, but Sam has developed good instincts for determining the approximate time periods that she visits, and the scene in the cabin does not feel modern. “Anyway, I’ve been there a few times now, and each time I see woman who lives alone in the cabin. And I’ve always wondered how she ended up living by herself in the middle of nowhere, but then I saw her use telekinesis to move some firewood and realized that _that_ might be the reason. That maybe she was rejected by her community after her ability was discovered, or she left because she didn’t want to be found out.”

“That’s entirely possible,” says Joan. “And you’re sure that there was no one else around? This woman was completely isolated?”

“Yeah, I think so. I had to walk maybe a mile or so from where I arrived to find the cabin, and I didn’t see any other people or buildings. Maybe there could be someone in a direction other than the one I came from, but… Well, I know what it’s like to be alone for a long time. And after finding out that this woman was atypical, I saw even more of that in her. Like she had this big burden of a secret that she couldn’t share with anyone else. And I think I might be able to find out more if I go back when I’m not panicking. Even with all of the unknowns, everything so far lines up with the theory we have about the relative isolation of atypicals in North America and Europe going back hundreds of years, and--”

“Sam,” Joan interrupts her with a gently scolding tone that reminds her that she may be getting carried away. “If I’m turning off my therapist brain while we’re in bed together, that means you have to turn off your researcher brain too.”

Sam’s immediate instinct is to protest, but she then realizes that now is indeed not the time for either of them to focus on their work. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” she concedes. “I’ll figure out how to get some more concrete information later.”

She snuggles herself closer to where Joan lies beside her. All is quiet between the two of them, and if she listens closely she can hear the soft inhales and exhales of Joan’s breathing. The sound is almost enough to lull her to sleep, giving her something to focus on besides her usual stream of anxious thoughts. Joan seems to be on the edge of sleep as well, her eyes fluttering shut as the silent seconds pass by.

“Joan?” Sam whispers into the small amount of space between them. “Are you still awake?”

Joan murmurs in affirmation. She opens her eyes, blinking slowly in the warm light of the room.

“I just wanted to say…” Sam hesitates, gathering her scattered thoughts into a coherent statement. “I’m so glad that I met you. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t walked into your office at the beginning of this year. I keep thinking about the woman I saw in the cabin and how alone she must have felt as an atypical, having no idea that there are others like her. And that could have easily been me. I would have just stayed in my apartment forever, never knowing what it feels like to have… well, _any_ of this.”

“You’ve only seen a few moments of this woman’s life, from the sounds of it,” Joan points out. “Who’s to say that she didn’t find company and support in a friend or a partner at some point?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” If Sam had seen similar snapshots of her own life a year ago from an outside perspective, she would have likely come to the same conclusion about her level of loneliness, unaware that her future self would eventually find a community of fellow atypicals and people who care about her. “I bet she didn’t end up dating her therapist, though.”

“ _Former_ therapist,” Joan reminds her. “Let’s not make this sound more scandalous than it actually is.” A smile curls up the corners of her mouth at the slight laugh that Sam gives in response. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t done anything for me in return. If it weren’t for you, Mark would still be trapped in the past. And even though everything is a mess with the AM and Damien, it’s been a long time since I was this happy.”

It’s strange for Sam to think about Joan being in a pattern of unhappiness, especially when she presents such a strong image of emotional stability that only falters in moments of extreme stress. She has never harbored any illusions of Joan being perfect, of course, but that does not stop her from making the false assumption that she is perpetually satisfied with her life.

“It’s good thing we have each other, then,” Sam says.

Joan makes a noise of agreement. She leans forward to close the space between them, and their lips meet in a kiss. Sam lets the expression of affection linger, pulling their bodies closer together in an embrace under the warm cover of the quilt. There is no place in space or time that she would rather be than sharing this moment with Joan, even if it has been born from nightmares and insecurities.

“I should let you get some rest,” Sam says eventually. “Just because I have trouble sleeping doesn’t mean you have to as well.”

Joan opens her mouth to object, but then her face softens into gentle acquiescence. “All right,” she agrees. “But if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

Sam’s heart swells at Joan’s unhesitating willingness to sacrifice her own sleep schedule for the sake of her well-being. The familiar whisper of how she does not deserve this level of devotion sneaks into her mind, but Sam refuses to give it the attention that it demands.

“I’ll be okay,” she assures Joan. “I promise.”

She retrieves her phone and headphones and then reaches across the bed to turn off the light. As she resumes the playback of the audiobook that she had been listening to before initially falling asleep, she continues to feel the quiet calmness that keeps her firmly rooted in the present. With Joan lying on one side of her and Darwin curled up on the other, she feels less alone than she has felt in a long time, and although her slumber remains restless through the rest of the night, her nightmares do not return.


	5. Chapter 5

“Joan, please say something.”

The silence in the living room is deafening after the chaos of the day’s events, when what Sam had designated as a “safe house” became a place of danger, heightened emotions, and violence. By now everyone else has left, having returned to the relative safety of their own homes now that Damien is no longer a threat (if “probably in a medically-induced coma by now” qualifies as “no longer a threat”). Only Sam and Joan remain at the house, and although Joan has helped Sam clean up the place with a sense of single-minded efficiency, her exterior of barely-held-together calmness begins to crack as she stands in the living room staring at the bloodstained couch where Damien’s broken body had lain a couple of hours earlier.

“I asked if you were okay,” Sam prompts her, repeating the same inquiry that she had offered earlier only to be met with silence.

Joan’s arms cross more tightly around her body, hugging herself for support as she lets out a deep exhale. Before today, Sam has never seen her look so helpless, not even when Damien had disappeared into the night with Mark last summer. In that moment Joan had been able to mask her other emotions with an all-consuming fury at how everything had gone wrong, but now she makes no effort to hide how overwhelmed she has become.

“I failed them,” Joan says finally.

Sam takes a hesitant step toward her. “Failed who?” she asks.

“Caleb and Adam came to me today because they believed I was an adult they could trust. Someone who would make sure they were kept safe from any kind of harm. And now?” She lets out a breath of humorless laughter. “Adam was still almost kidnapped, and Caleb physically assaulted someone. They’re just _kids_. I never wanted them to get involved in any of this. I couldn’t protect them, and so I failed them.”

“I’m sure they don’t blame you,” Sam says. The reassurance feels empty as soon as it leaves her mouth, because she _knows_ how easy it is to drown yourself in guilt. “You had no way of knowing that this was going to happen.”

“And it’s not just them, either.” Joan’s words spill out of her as if a floodgate has been opened. “Chloe has a concussion that may have affected her ability, and Mark…”

She leaves unspoken everything that had come out between her and Mark about the AM and Wadsworth. Sam cannot imagine how painful it was for Joan to learn the horrible details of what Wadsworth had done to him, and her heart aches when she remembers the crack in Joan’s voice and the tears in her eyes when Mark had revealed how deeply his trauma from the AM has affected him.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Sam asks. “If you think you should go be with him, that’s fine. I told you I can handle everything here by myself.”

Joan shakes her head. “I think I should give him some space for now. We’ll…” She lets out a quiet sigh. “We’ll talk things out eventually.”

The doubt in her response brings a frown to Sam’s expression. She will never be able to fully understand the history between Joan and Mark, the years of physical and emotional distance that his disappearance had only exacerbated, but she knows how much Joan loves him and how much she has sacrificed for his sake. That type of bond is something that cannot easily be broken, no matter how much strain piles upon it.

Sam reaches out to touch Joan’s arm. Joan slowly uncrosses her arms from where they have been wrapped around her in a posture of fear and doubt. Their hands entwine together, and Sam feels the warmth of Joan’s touch against her skin that encourages her to fill the silence that has fallen between them.

“Come sit down,” she says, unable to bear seeing Joan standing helplessly in the middle of the room. “I think we’ve cleaned up as much as we can in here.”

She does not let go of Joan’s hand as they move to sit together on the less bloodstained part of the couch. Sam has tried her best to spot-clean the cushions and pillows that Damien had bled on, but unless she is able to give the fabric a deep cleaning she will have to accept the couch as yet another victim of what has happened today. Portions of the rug have suffered a similar fate as well, which hits Sam with an even harder sense of loss. Most of the furniture that she’d bought for this house is new, but the rug is one of the items that had once been in her parents’ house. She’d thought that the rug, too big for the living room in her apartment, would bring a touch of home to the place and remind her of the happier years of her youth when she would sprawl out on it while playing board games with her parents. Now those memories have been tainted by the reminder of how everything with Damien has spiraled out of control.

“I’m sorry that you had to see me crumble like this,” says Joan. “I’m sure you must be thinking all kind of things about me after hearing everything that Mark said. About how I pushed him away as we grew older, and how I was foolish enough to trust Wadsworth when she was doing such terrible things to him.”

Sam wraps an arm around Joan to pull her closer. Although gestures of affection between them have become as natural to her as breathing, she is not accustomed to being the one who has to offer comfort and support. She doesn’t know how to take care of people, not like Joan does, and so the only thing she can offer is her company.

“I think,” she replies, “you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. We’re all a little shaken up after everything that happened. Well, more than a little,” she amends, because _that_ would be the understatement of the century. “And I know I’m the last person who should tell anyone not to be too hard on themselves. But even when things got really bad, you’ve been so amazing at holding us all together. Keeping us focused and helping us make the tough choices when we had to. Trust me, I’m not going to look down on you for _anything_ that happened today.”

Joan does not look convinced. Her teeth worry at her bottom lip in a continued expression of uncertainty. “Sometimes I think you’re a stronger person than I am,” she admits.

Sam scoffs in disbelief. “Me? The person who a year ago could barely step out of my comfort zone or even leave my apartment without having a panic attack?”

“But look at you now,” Joan points out. “You dealt with a crisis and were solidly here the whole time. You haven’t flickered once.”

“Oh my God, you’re right. I haven’t.” Sam pulls away from her with the shock of her observation. She has spent so long structuring her life around the fear of when she will next disappear into the past, but when Damien had entered the house that part of her brain had shut off while her body moved like it was on autopilot. She hasn’t had _time_ to worry about her ability, and although she should claim today as a victory on that front, she is in no mood to celebrate. “I guess that’s yet another thing I have to thank you for.”

She expects Joan to crack a small smile at her gratitude, but instead her frown returns. “ _Should_ any of you be thanking me, though?” she asks. “Almost everyone in this house today ended up here either because I manipulated them into serving my personal agenda, or because they were innocent people who got caught in the crossfire. If I hadn’t had such tunnel vision when it came to saving Mark, and if I had just helped all of my patients live in harmony with their abilities like I’m supposed to…”

She trails off into silence. Sam takes both of her hands into her own, unable to bear seeing her second-guess herself like this. She knows that Joan sometimes strays into the territory of being a less-than-perfect therapist, and she has not easily forgotten the sting of Joan’s lies and secrecy when she had been her patient. Joan is so much _more_ than the woman who would do anything for her brother, however. Her devotion extends much farther, and whether she realizes it or not, Sam knows that she has helped every person who took refuge in this safe house today.

“You _did_ help me,” Sam says. “Before I met you, I felt like… I don’t know, like I’d spent the past ten years of my life sleeping. And _you_ were the one who woke me up, Joan. You made me realize that I didn’t have to shut myself away from the rest of the world. I mean, I have actual _friends_ now. I have a _girlfriend_.” The word thrills her with the realization of what she once believed to be impossible. “I thought I’d never know what it feels like to fall in love with someone before I met you. And it turns out that love can be _really_ scary sometimes, and most of the time I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, but I still wouldn’t trade it for anything. I wouldn’t trade _you_ for anything, either. No matter how many mistakes you’ve made.”

Her words spill out of her mouth in a raw expression of her emotions. She does not realize the full extent of what she has said until she sees the surprise in Joan’s eyes and hears her response of “You’ve… fallen in love with me?”

Sam frantically mentally replays what she has said, and her use of the phrase “fall in love” stands out like a beacon. Heat rises to her face at how easily she has admitted her deepest feelings. She has expected a confession like this to be an agonizing search for the most romantic moment to declare her love, but now instead she feels the familiar stifling rush of anxiety after having laid bare just how much Joan has found a place in her heart.

“I--I didn’t mean--” Sam stammers out. But no, she _did_ mean it, she tells herself firmly. She does not want to hide behind her uncertainties, no matter how much they make her want to take back the words. “It’s probably way too early to say something like that, right? I mean, we’ve only been dating for a month, and I know originally we were going to take things slow. But now everything’s escalated in a lot of different ways, and...” She exhales a deep breath. “Sorry. Now’s probably not the best time to be talking about love, is it?”

“Don’t apologize,” says Joan. She tightens her hold on Sam’s hands and interlaces their fingers together. The touch helps anchor Sam, keeping her from being swept away by the nervous pounding of her heart. “This is far from a normal relationship, after all. And you are one of the most extraordinary women I’ve ever known. Because you’re atypical, certainly, but also because you’re kind and smart and _so_ resilient.” She meets Sam’s eyes in an earnest gaze. “I’m lucky to know you, and even luckier to love you.”

The expression of love fills Sam with a spark of joy that shines brightly against the shadow of the day’s events. “I love you too,” she says. “But, um, you already knew that. God, I’m so obvious, aren’t I?”

A small smile breaks through the weariness on Joan’s face. “It never hurts to hear it again.”

Sam leans in to kiss her. Their arms wrap tightly around each other, and even after they break their kiss they remain entwined in their embrace. She focuses on every detail of this moment: the slight rise and fall of Joan’s chest as she breathes, the scent of her hair, and the warmth of her touch. After everything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours, she needs something good to cling to, and Joan will always be that safe harbor for her in a sea of fear and uncertainty.

“Thank you for everything, Sam,” Joan says, not yet withdrawing from her arms. “Especially for giving all of us a place to stay before everything took a turn for the worse. I wish we’d had a chance to make better memories in this house, even if it would have likely been everyone anxiously playing board games while hoping that Damien wasn’t going to show up.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely ready to not have to need this place again for a _very_ long time,” Sam replies. “But maybe… maybe we can stay like this for just a little while longer before we head out?”

“Of course. As long as you need.”

Joan’s voice is soft in her ear as she continues to hold her close, until at last they break apart, ready to face whatever looming horizon awaits them.


	6. Chapter 6

The cold winter wind whips at Sam’s face as she walks through the cemetery, and she pulls her knitted hat more snugly over her ears to keep herself a little warmer. The weather is not the most ideal for her to be outside, but the start of a new year always seems to be as good of a time as any to visit her parents’ graves. She tries to visit a few times throughout the year, whether it’s on the painful reminder of the anniversary of their deaths or on the days when she is merely thinking of them, but there’s something symbolic in starting each year with a visit. Today, however, brings a slight departure from her usual tradition, because for the first time in many years, she is not coming here alone.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she says to Joan. “I know a cemetery isn’t the most romantic place, but it means a lot to have you here.”

“You’re welcome,” Joan replies. “I’m happy to keep you company.”

Sam entwines their gloved hands a little tighter as she shivers in the cold. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather be inside where it’s warm, maybe listening to Mark complain about how hungover he is after our New Year’s Eve festivities last night?” The celebration had been fairly quiet--just her, Joan, and Mark playing board games and having some drinks--but Mark had easily consumed the most alcohol out of the three of them before Joan cut him off.

“He’ll be fine,” says Joan. “I’m sure he’s had worse.”

A frown lingers in her expression despite her words. Although on the surface it appears that everything is fine between Joan and Mark, Sam knows both of them well enough to know that they still have unspoken issues that need to be addressed. The continued distance between them is none of Sam’s business, and it’s certainly not her place to press them into untangling that complicated web of history, but she still worries about how the illusion of everything being fine may eventually crumble like it did in November.

“Here,” Sam says, coming to a stop at the pair of gravestones that mark where her parents have been laid to rest. “This is them.”

She lets go of Joan’s hand and steps across the few inches of old snow covering the grass. The familiar sense of deep loss floods her at the inescapable reminder that her parents are nothing more than what is buried beneath this earth, along with her fading memories that she desperately clings to. In very different circumstances, this time of year would be spent celebrating with her family, returning to her childhood home and letting her parents fuss over her even though she is a grown adult now. But that life was lost to her long ago, from the moment she realized that she has a strange and sometimes dangerous ability, and now her celebration instead consists of placing flowers by their graves.

“Tulips were my mom’s favorite,” Sam says after she has walked back to stand by Joan. “She used to grow them in our front yard. The daffodils always came up first every spring, but I always knew spring was truly here when the tulips bloomed. I know they’re not really the most seasonally appropriate right now, but I always make sure to bring some for her every time I visit.”

She tries to keep her tone casual, but she cannot hide the pain that inevitably comes with talking about her parents. Joan puts an arm around her, both as a measure of comfort and a means of warmth.

“It’s a wonderful gesture,” Joan replies. “Do you…” She hesitates. In her next words Sam recognizes her attempt to not sound too much like a therapist, even though some questions are always going to resemble something that she would ask in her office. “Are you comfortable sharing more of your memories of them?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. That’s really why I come here, after all. To remember.” Sam leans into the arm that Joan has wrapped around her. “But it gets harder to remember them the more time passes. Especially all of the little things that I took for granted when they were still alive. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d forgotten until I traveled to right before the accident. But I’ll always remember how patient they were with me. I know it couldn’t have been easy for them, dealing with a daughter who was so anxious all the time but couldn’t tell them why. Even that day in the car, they were so encouraging and kept cracking stupid jokes to make me feel less nervous.” The memory brings her the usual rush of guilt at how her teenage self hadn’t realized how lucky she was to have parents who loved her so much. “But sometimes I’ll get flashes of some of the little details that I haven’t thought about in years. Like the smell of my dad making pancakes on Saturday mornings, or the sound of my mom singing along with the music she’d put on whenever she was cleaning. And it makes me realize that maybe some memories don’t go away forever.”

“They sound like wonderful people,” says Joan. “I’m sure they’d be very proud of you for everything that you’ve accomplished this past year.”

“Yeah. I think so too.” The sentiment comes with an overwhelming feeling of bittersweetness at what she has lost. “Um, is it okay if I take some time by myself for a little while? You know, to talk to them?”

“Of course,” Joan replies. “Take as long as you need.”

Sam waits until Joan has moved a respectful distance away from the gravesite before taking a few steps forward. “So, hi,” she says. The first few words spoken into the quiet air always feel strange until she settles into the rhythm of talking to people who are not physically present. “I know it’s been a while. Probably the longest it’s been since… well, you know. But my life has just been so crazy lately. Not always the bad kind of crazy, though, which is a nice change.”

She allows herself a brief laugh. Everything that she wants to say rises to the surface of her thoughts, and she cannot decide which major development of the past several months she wants to share first. She settles on starting from the beginning, moving through the events step by step.

“So remember how the last time I was here I talked about how I’d started seeing a therapist named Dr. Bright who knew how to help people like me?” Referring to Joan in a more professional manner feels unnatural after months of first-name basis, even though others in her social circle still address her as such. “And how things were mostly going well but sometimes I wasn’t sure if I could trust her? Well, she’s kind of the reason why things have been so crazy. There was this whole thing where I agreed to help her rescue her brother whose mind was trapped in the past because a super shady government organization was experimenting on him. Which I know sounds like something straight out of science fiction, but that pretty much sums up my whole life in general, doesn’t it? And then I was away for most of the summer on a solo roadtrip around the country--I know, me getting behind the wheel of a car again, who would’ve thought _that_ would ever happen? And when I got back…” She trails off, unsure of where to take her simplified account of events from here. “Well, basically Dr. Bright--Joan--and I got a lot closer, and now she’s my girlfriend.”

She lets the statement hang in the air as if she is waiting for the undoubtedly surprised reaction that her parents would give if they could respond. It’s not the first time she has told someone about her changed relationship status with Joan, but telling her parents, however symbolically, leaves her in a more vulnerable position than she expects even when they cannot directly judge her.

“And I know what you’re probably thinking,” she continues on. “‘Wow, Sam, you’re dating your therapist, isn’t that a little unethical?’ But it’s not really like that. When I agreed to help save her brother, we pretty much stopped the whole doctor-patient thing. And then she and I became friends, which then led to… well, more than friends. And hey, I just realized that this is pretty much me coming out to you, isn’t it? I never thought that would be something I’d have to do, because I didn’t quite have the whole ‘not just attracted to guys’ thing figured out when I was a teenager. And then after the accident I isolated myself so much that I didn’t think that I’d ever be in a relationship with anyone, period. So what was the point of telling anyone, right? But I’m pretty sure you two would be okay with me dating a woman.” She hesitates in the inevitable uncertainty that comes with what her parents would think of this development. “I mean, Dad, you always said the most important thing in life was to be myself, and Mom, you told me how love can come in so many different forms. And I think both of you would really like Joan. She’s probably one of the most caring people I’ve ever known, and even though neither of us are perfect I think we balance each other out really well. She’s changed my life more than I ever believed possible, and I’m so glad that I met her.”

Another gust of wind whips through the cemetery. In the absence of a hand to hold or a body to embrace, Sam slides her hands into the pockets of her coat to keep herself a little warmer. Her breath leaves her mouth in a puff of visible air that dissipates as she figures out what to say next.

“So I guess that’s the big thing that’s happened since the last time I visited,” she says. “What else… Oh, I quit my job last summer. I’m not officially employed by anyone anymore, but I’ve been working on an independent research project to find out more about other people like me. It’s a lot of using my ability to look for atypicals in the past and gather information about them. And, um, occasionally hacking into secure government servers. But it’s for a good cause, I swear.” Even after ten years without her parents, she cannot escape the fear that they will somehow find a way to scold her from beyond the grave for her illegal and possibly dangerous incursions into the AM’s databases. “I also bought a house. Two houses, technically, but I ended up selling the first one because… Well, it’s a long story. But it’s a nice place in a quiet neighborhood, and even though I’m still in the process of settling in I’ve been told to have the place presentable by Wednesday because apparently I’m not getting away without having a birthday party.” She laughs. “Isn’t that incredible? I never thought I’d have another birthday party again. And this year I’ve made such amazing friends, and I have a wonderful girlfriend. Even though a lot of bad stuff has happened too, I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy. I just…” Her voice wavers and then breaks. “I just wish the two of you were here to share in it with me.”

She squeezes her eyes shut against the hot sting of tears, but she cannot prevent a few teardrops from leaking out. She wipes them away with her hand and sniffles quietly. With nothing else to say now that all of her emotions have caught up to her, she stands in silence as she takes in the full breadth of what she has lost. But Joan is right when she says that Sam has given her parents much to be proud of, and even though she cannot hear their encouraging words or feel their loving embraces, she knows deep in her heart that they are smiling at everything that she has accomplished this year.

“I should probably go,” she eventually says. “I don’t want to leave Joan waiting in the cold--that was her with me earlier. But I’ll try to visit again soon, okay?” She casts a final look at the gravestones and the flowers resting next to them. “Okay. I love you both so much. Happy New Year.”

Sam walks away to rejoin Joan where she waits for her. Much to her relief, Joan does not make the empty inquiry of whether she is okay. Long-term grief is often more complicated than the binary of “okay” versus “not okay,” after all, and Sam cannot express her current emotional state with simple words.

“Did you have a good talk?” Joan asks.

Sam nods. “They’ve always been good listeners. Not unlike you, I suppose.”

“I’ve found that you can never have too many good listeners in your life,” says Joan. “Are you ready to leave, or do you need some more time?”

“No, I’m ready.” The cold air fills Sam’s lungs as she takes a deep breath. “Want to stop for coffee before heading home?” she continues on. “I could use something warm to drink.”

“I’d love to.”

They walk side-by-side out of the cemetery, and their hands find their way into each other’s grasp. Despite the somber atmosphere of her surroundings, Sam feels a deep sense of gratitude for all of the good things that have happened this year that have brought her out of the stasis that she’d been trapped in for so long. She has Joan to thank for many of those things, of course, but she also has an entire community of support to rely on: Chloe, Mark, Frank, and even Caleb and Adam. She never thought that she would find so much love in all of its forms, and yet here she is, in the process of creating a new family without forgetting what she has lost.

And if the coming year will bring her as much change as this one did, with the simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying prospect of the unknown, then the future looks very bright indeed.


End file.
